


Happy Endings

by May



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: AU - Isabella lives, F/M, Facials
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 05:51:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10713513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/May/pseuds/May
Summary: It turns out that there are problems with having the same face as your boyfriend's dead ex-girlfriend.





	Happy Endings

"Keep them on," he says, again.

Isabella can feel the floor through her hosiery, kneecaps awkward against the wood. Her hair is still red, and styled neatly, in a way that Isabella only wears because it reminds Edward of somebody else. She's dressed for work, but not her own workplace. She's wearing her glasses, even though she doesn't need to be wearing them unless she's reading.

There are books stacked in Isabella's head; they sit open on top of each other, their stories running into each other. Together, they make a perfect image. It's sweetness where the blood has already soaked through, it's need and purity after catharsis.

Her living room is warm and dimly lit from one lamp in the corner, between the couch and the bookshelf. She likes it, usually, because rooms have a cozy, private glow like that. Behind the curtains at the window, Gotham murmurs and rumbles and screams to itself.

It's just the two of them between these walls, and Edward is standing in front of her. His suit is neat and pressed and a deep, fading green. There is nothing out of place, except where his zip is lowered and he's holding his cock. On storied paper, this is exciting.

"Are you sure that this is okay?" he says.

"It's fine." She tries not to sound short with him, because she's happy to do this for him. It was she that first initiated things, after all, and so things must continue. The idea is to cleanse the past, just enough.

Edward is tall and angular, and Isabella can see the shadows beneath his bones, and how his glasses make rigid shapes around his eyes.

He holds something inside him, something dark and bloody and undying. She'd loved his hand at her throat, and how he'd cleaved her open from the inside. She had liked to lay against him, where they could be together, with the swell of obsession and the violent ecstacy. She'd liked to exist, there in the center of his world, where love pulsed between them.

Isabella tries to summon the memory and make her cunt react to the chemistry she remembers. She stares at his cock, takes in its length and imagines its weight in his hand. She thinks of its taut skin and the solidness beneath that. There's the heat of it, and the wetness of its tip. How eager he always must be. Eager for her, of course.

He'd loved Kristen so much that the intensity of it had swallowed him. He'd loved her so much that he'd killed her. Her death behind him and her blood on his hands, he'd turned dark. But Isabella is living, is redemptive, and she loves him back, just as deeply. So the idea goes.

Isabella looks at his face, and he's looking back down at her. He's looking at her like he needs the answer to a question. She drops her eyes, again, and thinks about storylines fraught with erotic danger. She is centered, there, she is not on the edge.

"Are you going to do it?" says Isabella. His cock is half hard, but her cunt doesn't twitch. She wants to think that she's imploring. "Please?"

Edward pauses before he speaks. His eyes run over Isabella's face, as if he's inspecting it.

"You're so beautiful," he says, at last. Isabella feels appraised, but she doesn't feel as flattered as she's sure she should.

There's too much quiet, then, and it's heavy enough that even the noise outside can't dissolve it. It's the weight of memory, one with red hair and bruises at her throat. It walks through with dead, clouded eyes.

Edward begins to stroke himself, and the silence breaks under the noise of slapping flesh. The air doesn't tighten around them, warm with passion. He keeps his eyes on her face as his own contorts with rising tension. Isabella's face opens doors in his mind, she knows that.

Isabella closes her eyes, and she gives up on trying to clench the walls of her cunt together. Darkness should shrink the world down to the two of them, where there's just flesh and breathing. But the intimacy of Edward's quickening breaths just feels claustrophobic and desperate. Maybe this will help him move forward, though. Maybe.

What happens next comes in a series of brief moments; Edward gasps, and a warm splat follows a liquid burst. The impact makes Isabella gasp, and she opens her eyes. Fluid, viscous, off-white and semi translucent, drips down the lenses of her glasses in globules. She feels it sticky on her cheeks and she purses her lips to stop the salty-soap taste from seeping into her mouth. Isabella can see Edward through the liquid film, his shoulders sloped and his cock hanging newly flaccid in his hand.

She reaches up to pull the glasses from her face and, as she does so, a drop of semen rolls over her eyebrow and into her eye. It begins to bead in her eyelashes as the sting of it clots across her sight. Isabella hisses and squints her eye shut, and the drying semen caking on her cheek cracks at the movement. Out of her other eye, she sees Edward rush towards her, his hands flailing in anxious waves.

\-------------------

People make ghosts, and one haunts them, in a mud-stained nightdress. It's still there when Isabella opens her eyes, a little while later. She has kept one of them shut while Edward has been dabbing at her face with a washcloth, before sticking bandages over her injured eye. There's still a pulsing sting behind the gauze.

"I'm sorry," says Edward. Isabella's face is bare, and her skin is cool and clean. She's managed to strip down to her underwear. It's black lace and comfortably hers.

"It's fine. You didn't mean to," she says, and she didn't mean the sigh in her voice, but it's there, anyway. "I just want you to get past Kristen."

"She was important to me," says Edward. "But I don't need her, anymore. I have you."

Sometimes, he looks at her, and she feels like a doll, precious and more porcelain than living woman. Sometimes, he looks at her like he's putting things together, and they don't add up.

Isabella thinks she'll go back to being blonde, soon.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Treachery of Images (The Mirror Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12004353) by [SegaBarrett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett)




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